Fall Down Slow
by TheBlueFoxtrot A Samba
Summary: Detectives are naturally curious creatures. And there's no denying he drinks enough tea to at least be the Mad Hatter's cousin.


_The mentalist and alice are owned by people who have a lot more money and stress than me._

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><p>Blond hair stuck out in an unruly manner from under the pinstripe fedora perched on his head. She was a little pleased to note that one actually did look good on him, like she'd thought. Of course, it wasn't him. This wasn't actually happening.<p>

Just because he wore a suit like Jane – a _purple _suit – and sipped tea like Jane – the man was addicted – and looked at her like Jane – curious and intent – didn't make him Jane. All of this was some crazy, stress-induced dream. Why else would she be wearing one of her oversized t-shirts at some bizarre tea party with a hatted Jane?

Curious and somehow at ease with the circumstances and watched him watch her for a moment. She leaned forward a bit in her chair, as he was seated at an opulent chair completely on the other head of the table.

"Jane?"

He lowered the tea cup, seemed to think about it, and brought it back up to take a quick sip. Then he lowered the cup and tilted his head.

"Jane." He said. "Is that your name?"

She glanced to the side quickly, confused.

"No," she said hesitantly. "I'm Lisbon."

"Lisbon. You should change it to Jane. It's much prettier."

She felt her eyes go wide and sputtered a moment.

"I like my name the way it is, thanks. Who are you?"

"Uh, no. No, I'm Nobody." He smiled. "I'll let you call me Fulano if you want. Would you like some tea?"

That surprised her. She seriously expected him to say Hatter. However, her Jane rarely did anything expected of him.

"Is this a dream? A joke?"

"It will be whatever you want it to be," was his enigmatic reply.

She was either dreaming or absolutely losing it. Or Jane was doing one of his elaborate theatrics to catch a killer. Of course, they weren't working on a case now, were they, and he wouldn't pull a prank on her without a reason.

It wouldn't even be logical in his mind for him to somehow find a way to get into her apartment and set up a giant tea table at the bottom of her staircase. Actually…frowning, she took another look around…since when was her apartment this big? And when did she get a blue chandelier?

"Do you see that picture? Well, no, you don't. You'd have to look first," he nodded behind her.

Wary to take her eye off of this Not-Jane Jane, Lisbon turned slowly and nearly fell out of her chair. On her wall above her couch was a painted red, smiling face.

"He is the man I'm going to kill," he said matter of factly. His voice had turned cold, definite. "Bloody Red John has been slaughtering people throughout the land and it's long past his turn."

She turned around and was surprised to see him standing next to her. He looked at the painting with an unreadable expression that almost scared her. Every time he talked about Red John, she always felt cold and worried. Yet despite herself, her natural curiosity of the strange situation slipped past that.

"Don't you mean Red Queen?"

He blinked and looked down at her as he'd forgotten she was there, balancing his cup on a saucer.

"Uh, no. There's no queen anymore. He killed her and my princess. Furthermore, if I'd meant Red Queen, I'd have said that rather than Red John. I say what I mean, dear. Try it and keep up."

He flicked her nose, turned around, and walked toward her door. Leaving a stunned Lisbon staring cross eyed down at her nose. Snapping her gaping mouth shut, she surged out of her chair and after him, outraged.

"Did you just flick me?"

"Do you question everything?"

Only a few feet from the door, she grabbed his arm to stop him and turn him around.

"Answer the damn question!"

He arched a brow under that ridiculous hat and said,

"You first."

"I asked _you_ first!"

"Yes, you did."

He just stared, waiting and smug. Oh, how she wished she had her pistol. Unfortunately, she'd lost it during the fall down to – when had she fallen? – …wherever this insane place was where people she knew were apparently someone else. Yet not entirely.

"You know what? I don't have to take this. I'm going to wake up because it's not fair that I have to deal with a dream Jane that's even more aggravating than the real thing."

Lisbon closed her eyes, in an attempt to wake herself up. Then she felt her nose get flicked again.

"Stop that!"

"No. If I do, you'll leave me. I don't want you to leave yet. I have to tell you something first, and you have to understand it. You're far too stubborn to get it while conscious."

"And what's that?"

He angled his head in a way that almost hid his face behind his hat. She could still see his eyes, and they seemed to flow with an unnatural intensity.

"Sometimes, I don't mean what I say, and sometimes I do. When I say things about him, I mean it. I am going to kill him, Lisbon."

"Don't s –"

"No. Listen. When I do, don't blame yourself for anything. You tried, and I'm sorry that you'll be hurt, but it's not your fault. Don't ever think there was something you could have done otherwise; there's not."

"I'll stop you. I won't let you do it."

He smiled, and it seemed very sad to her. Of course, her vision was a little watery for some reason so she might be seeing wrong.

"Your sense of justice is endearing, Lisbon. But you know you won't and you can't. I made up my mind and heart a long time ago."

"You'll go to prison, Jane."

Didn't he understand that? After that stunt he pulled before, he'd go to the best maximum security prison in California. They wouldn't risk putting him in the general population. Solitary confinement throughout a prison sentence wasn't uncommon, even for non-violent prisoners.

He didn't correct the name or deny the fact, merely chuckled.

"Prison walls are only in your mind, Teresa. Don't let yourself get locked in."

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_A/N: So I really don't know what this is other than some random drabbling fusion of Alice and the Mentalist that my muse compelled me to write because it is way into both of them._


End file.
